Read Online Cut and Run by Donn Cortez - Free Book Online Page A

computer files had provided no clue—not to that question, anyway. But they had yielded a potential suspect: Sylvester Perrone. Perrone was the CEO of Sweetbright Aquaculture, a company that marketed seafood, and according to Timothy Breakwash’s files he and Perrone had met several times in the last two weeks at one of Sweetbright’s fish farms. There were no notations for any of the meetings, beyond the fact that they were business-related.
    Horatio was still thinking about the Breakwashes when he pulled his Hummer off the highway just outside Florida City, a small suburb of Miami with a primarily African-American population. Florida City was right on the edge of the ’Glades, and the aquaculture operation was located at the very border of the city. Horatio drove up to a chain-link gate, got out of his vehicle, and hit the button on the small intercom mounted beneath the security camera. A curt voice asked him who he was, and the gate opened without further comment when he produced his badge and held it up to the camera.
    A short drive led to a concrete-block building abutting a large, corrugated-tin warehouse. Horatio parked and headed for the smaller structure.
    Inside, a slight, sunburned girl with improbably white hair looked up from her desk beside the front door and asked him who he was here to see. Horatio smiled, told her, then waited patiently while she called her boss, taking in the office space. It was one large room, with the feel of a scrappy start-up rather than a corporate leviathan; the office furniture was mismatched, the carpet new but cheap, the computers on the desks a few years behind current. People behind the desks looked busy; there were about a dozen of them, talking on phones or tapping at keyboards or both.
    A door opened to Horatio’s right, and a man in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up stepped out. He was in his forties, handsome, with the broad shoulders and chest of a football player. His skin was deeply tanned, his hair a short, glossy brown that looked too perfect to be real. He strode up to Horatio and put out his hand.
    â€œSylvester Perrone,” he said as they shook. His voice was as deep as an empty barrel, with just a touch of Texas in it.
    â€œLieutenant Horatio Caine.”
    â€œCome on into my office, Lieutenant. We can talk there.” He motioned Horatio inside.
    Perrone’s office was about what Horatio expected; his desk was a little bigger, his computer a little newer, but overall it gave the impression that Perrone worked just as hard as his employees. A gigantic mounted sailfish took up most of one wall, but other than that the only decorations were a clock on the wall and a company calendar.
    Perrone sat behind his desk and Horatio took the only other chair. “Now, Lieutenant—”
    â€œHoratio, please.”
    â€œOkay, Horatio. How can I help you?”
    â€œIt’s about someone who was doing some ecological consulting for you—Timothy Breakwash.”
    Perrone nodded. “I heard about what happened to him. Never thought of ballooning as being that dangerous.”
    â€œIt’s not. Mister Breakwash was shot.”
    Perrone’s eyebrows went up. “You mean someone shot him while he was up in the air? That wasn’t on the news.”
    â€œThere are a number of unanswered questions about Mister Breakwash’s death, Mister Perrone. I was hoping you could shed some light on the work he was doing for your company.”
    Perrone settled back in his plush leather chair—the only nod to luxury Horatio could see. “Well, the work he was doing for us was pretty standard—evaluating levels of phosphorous and nitrogen in our runoff, making sure we’re up to EPA standards.”
    â€œI see. How about finding evidence of Pfiesteria piscicida ?”
    The statement had the desired effect. Perrone’s eyes widened ever so slightly, there was a barely discernible pause, and his smile